The young man’s heart beat rapidly and high, as that form, distinguishable only in the increasing duskiness of evening by its relief against the twilight sky, entered the green arcade; and it was a minute or two before he could discern with any certainty the sex, much less the identity of the person approaching him.
There is, however, in the senses of a lover something intuitive, that can for the most part discern unerringly the presence of the beloved object, by sounds, by signs, perhaps even by perfumes, so slight as to be imperceptible to any one, whose every nerve were not supernaturally sharpened by the influence of passion. Something it must have been of this amorous prescience, which rendered the cavalier almost certain, long ere the eye could inform him, that the figure approaching was no other than the person to meet whom he had ridden hither, and whose delay had caused him so much anxiety.
Nor was he deceived; for ere long the fluttering of female habiliments, might be distinguished clearly, and in another moment the well-known sounds of the light gentle footstep, and the silvery tones of the soft low voice assured him.
He bounded from his covert to meet her, and she too quickened her step, as she saw and recognized her lover.
She was as beautiful a girl, of some eighteen or nineteen years, as ever gladdened the eye of man. Considerably taller than the ordinary height of women, her figure, although very delicate and slender, with feet and ankles of the smallest and most fairy model, was yet so exquisitely rounded, so perfect in the rise and fall of every graceful and voluptuous outline, that it was not until you stood beside her, and compared her stature with your own, that you perceived how far she overtopped her fellow fair ones in height as in beauty. Her face was of perfect Grecian outline, with large soft gentle eyes, like violets surcharged with dew, and a mouth the most beautiful that ever adorned a female face, both for shape, color and expression; an expression so soft and so wooing that it would almost have been thought sensual, but for the candid artless innocence, not all unblended with a touch of pensive melancholy, which breathed from every other feature of that most lovely and love-inspiring countenance.
Her hair, profuse even to redundance, of the richest and sunniest brown, with a golden tinge running through it where it met the light, fell down in soft and silky masses on either side of the pale oval face and the swan-like neck, and waved in floods of heavy ringlets over the splendid arch of her falling shoulders, and the dazzling fairness of her bust, so far as it was shown by the square cut bodice of her dark velvet dress.
“Margaret,” said the young man, as he sprang forward joyously to meet her, “my own sweet Margaret, is it at length thou? Oh! I have so long tarried, and so—”
“Sorely tormented thyself, Lionel,” interrupted the fair girl, “is it not so? tormented thyself with fears of I know not what, and doubts of poor Margaret, that thou wert even half mad, between jealousy and apprehension! Now out upon thee for a self-tormentor, and most discourteous knight, to misdoubt thus thy true lady’s word! For did I not promise thee, Lionel?” she added, laying aside the playful air in which she had at first addressed him, and speaking now in the gentle but earnest tones of pure calm affection, “did I not promise that I would meet you here this evening, and when did I ever fail in my promise? Oh! Lionel,” she continued, laying her hand fondly on his arm, and looking full into his eyes with those large dark orbs of hers swimming in mournful languor, “how, when I see you thus fiercely moved, thus rendered doubtful and suspicious and unhappy by things of so slight moment, how can I hope that you will bear the real crosses and afflictions, the genuine woes and trials, of which so great a portion of life is composed, with that serene and manly dignity, that resolute and noble patience which alone in the end can make yourself or those who love you happy? Oh! cast this temper, Lionel, nay but subdue it altogether; and do not, do not, my beloved, make me too doubt and tremble for my future.”
“Beautiful counsellor,” he answered, “I listen to your eloquent words, your womanly and graceful counsels, and while I listen, I would swear to guard them as my soul’s best guides; would swear to abide by them forever; but when once your lovely face has vanished from before my eyes, when once your sweet voice sounds in my ears no longer, when I am once again alone, and all around me is left void and cheerless, then my heart burns apace, and my imagination darkens, and of my very craving and insatiate desire for your dear presence grows fear of every thing on earth, and almost doubt of every thing in heaven. But be once mine, let the dark dread of losing you forever be effaced from my mind, and you shall see me calm and patient as—as thyself, my own Margaret.”
“Ah you are selfish, Lionel,” she answered. “Your very love makes you selfish, and in the warmth of your own passions, in the anxiety of your own impatience, you forget that I too have my trials to endure, that I too wax at times impatient under the cold constraints, the small punctualities that fetter me, that I too—” and she paused in beauteous hesitation for a moment, until she marked the pleading glance, which he cast to her eyes—“that I too love, and dare not disclose that love, Lionel.”